A Soaking Ritual
I soak my body in a tub full of hard soap and guilt,
my throat thick with dread and regret.
I wonder
will my body ever feel like home again?
Eyes closed, I prepare for another ritual.
You see, I was told that I may find joy
in the wind
on a kitchen table
or some other ordinary place.
So, here I am desperately searching
in a tub full of dull, orange water
for a reflection that has refused to float for five years,
for fresh limbs that can help me cross barren lands of self discovery,
for the stillness to listen to my past selves when they speak.
So, I place two fingers above my tongue,
a thumb below for good measure.
I sweep my mouth clean
looking for words that will help me
retrace the paths that brought me to my knees.
What follows is a deep dive into my throat
fingers pushing through fresh layers of fear and resignment
lodged between old mucus of dread and regret
as I try to know my body once more
and find the thoughts I swallowed long ago,
some intentionally,
some by accident,
some against my will.
I stretch my fingers into the deepest parts of me.
No organ is left untouched.
No sense neglected.
But, when I finally reach suppressed memories and buried selves,
they are too poisonous to fondle,
too fast to strike.
At the slightest touch of
the me-s I once knew,
the bodies I once inhabited,
the spirits I once housed,
my arms weaken.
Time moves painfully slow as my current body rejects my prodding,
regurgitating my fingers back into the present.
I am reminded, once again, that this healing journey is
endless.
at this point,
seemingly futile.
A thousand days of writing rituals
have left me with no results,
only shame soaked in fear
that I am lost forever,
that this body will always feel like a hollow trunk.
Yet, I return to this tub
every morning while the water is still orange
because
to love this body
is to give it the time the world unabashedly steals from it,
to love this body
is to launder shed skins as Asọ-Ẹbí and not rags
because they are trophies from battles fought alone,
to love this body
is to deem it worthy of patience
and endless grace no other earthly being could grant even if they tried.
Yes,
to love this body is to keep returning to the water.
